A Model of Decorum and Tranquility
by Tom O'Bedlam
Summary: Narcissa Malfoy enters a world of intrigue and politics, where the only absolute loyalty is to one's family.
1. Loneliness

Yet more Narcissa. I'm not sure about my characterization of Lucius. Comments? The title, by the way, is from the musical Chess, which is brilliant.

Narcissa Black Malfoy sat in her window seat watching rain pour down on the Malfoy property. It was a lonely sight, looking out over miles of drenched lawns and forests. From this window the little cottages of their tenants were invisible, leaving Narcissa to feel as though she was the only human for miles around. The windowsill she sat on, the largest one in her suite of rooms, was draped in pale green silk, matching the delicate embroidery on the fragile white settee and chairs. The room was also empty, as was the rest of the manor. Lucius was gone, and would not be home until dinner or later. The manor, beautiful and full when Lucius was there suddenly felt enormous and hollow without its dazzling master. Feeling her eyes fill with tears of loneliness, Narcissa turned quickly away from the window, clapping her hands for her house elf. Eli appeared with silently, as Narcissa commanded. She hated the way the elves would arrive so loudly and startle everyone in the room. Today, however, the unnatural silence disconcerted her. Still, she spoke mildly enough to the elf, simply commanding tea to be brought to her study. It wouldn't do to show her feelings to anyone, even an elf.

Narcissa's study was as clean and delicate as all her other rooms. Though her desk was made of the same dark hardwood as Lucius's, the carving was delicate rather than imposing, and when backed by the pale blue walls and gauzy white curtains, even the heavy dark wood was cowed into femininity. By the time Narcissa had settled herself in the ornately carved desk chair, a wedding gift from her uncle, Eli had brought the tea, perfectly steeped in Narcissa's favorite teapot, with no cakes. Narcissa smiled at it, glad of the simple fact that the house elf already knew her preferences after so few months. Then Mrs. Malfoy, sipping her tea, turned her attention to her desk, and the fresh stationery sitting there, awaiting use.

Tapping an eagle feather quill against her lips, Narcissa considered the leaf before her. It was her favorite pale green, with her initials, NBM, embossed in silver on the top. Finally, she placed it back in the drawer from which it had come. That stationery was for invitations to the first tea party she would host here, or possibly to invite someone who needed to be put in his place. Right now she needed find out exactly what was happening in society. For the past few months she'd heard practically nothing of the marriages and births and deaths and affairs of the wizarding world, first as she lost track of other affairs for her wedding, then the honeymoon, and now settling in to Malfoy Manor and arranging everything to her taste. But finally it was time for her to take up all the threads she had left hanging when she had told Lucius "Yes."

Narcissa pulled a very different set of stationery from her drawer. These pages were delicate pink, and the header was a frothy bouquet of narcissus, a birthday gift from her mother some years before. Smiling unthinkingly at the memory, Narcissa bent to compose a note inviting Dacia Woodworth to tea the next day. Dacia had never been a close friend of Miss Narcissa, but would certainly visit, if only to see how her old classmate had changed after her marriage. And Narcissa, in turn, would learn every scandal that she didn't know, and probably some that she did. Smiling at this neat method of dealing with her problem (asking Bella or Mother would be tantamount to admitting weakness), Narcissa finished the carefully worded note with a flourish, then paused to consider her signature. Finally, she signed her name in its entirety: Narcissa Black Malfoy. Looking at her first real signature as a married woman, Narcissa smiled with true satisfaction and clapped her hands for Eli to take away the remains of tea, and mail Narcissa's re-acquaintance into the high society of the wizarding world.

Lucius returned earlier than she'd expected him. Narcissa was changing for dinner when he clattered up to the front door, shoulders slumped against the wind and rain. Malfoy Manor, so far as Narcissa knew, was impossible to Apparate to, even for its master, so everyone entering had to come through the gatehouse, and thus pass inspection from their utterly reliable and rather large gatekeeper. The wide sloping road that led from the gatehouse to the Manor was a pleasant enough drive in fine weather, but carefully designed to intimidate the uninitiated, taking a long curving path to the house, showing glimpses of it at all angles, before bringing one directly up to its forbidding doorstep. There was a quicker path through the grounds that Lucius had shown Narcissa once, and both kept horses in the gatehouse stables against the chance of inclimate weather. By the time Lucius had divested himself of his horse and cloak, Narcissa was waiting for him in the family parlor, a fire already lit and a drink waiting by his chair. This parlor still boar the legacy of Marguerite Malfoy, dead for nearly three years now, but Narcissa still couldn't bring herself to refurnish this one tribute to Lucius' beautiful, delicate mother. The room was done entirely in shades of rose, from the delicate tint of the walls to the thick, dark, rose-patterned carpet. Marguerite had always kept fresh roses in this room, but Narcissa hadn't been able to find either the elegant crystal vases or Marguerite's secret horde of winter roses, so the room was now scented by dried rose potpourri in a china jar on an out of the way table. Rose, Narcissa remembered Marguerite telling her, was the perfect color for a family room; gently relaxing, warm enough to make everyone seem comfortable, even they hadn't spoken in years. Rose would never do for a formal receiving parlor; visitors were to be put in their place by imposing dark paneling, or made uneasy by unnaturally pristine white.

Lucius swirled in, still wet and obviously in a bad temper. He dropped into his chair by the fire, and sneered at it for a moment before glancing up to look at Narcissa, who sat on the end of one of the soft carnation couches, her eyes firmly on her work. As she glanced up at him through her eyelashes, a reluctant grin appeared on his face. Narcissa smiled back, then inquired, "How was your day?"

"Unpleasent," Lucius replied. "I was at the Ministry today, and I ran into more mudbloods and muggle-lovers than I care to think about." He paused then added, "I'll be late tomorrow. If this dreadful weather's past by the afternoon, I wanted look over the grounds with Goyle." Goyle was the groundskeeper, a large and taciturn man who had yet to say more than "Yes m'lady, no m'lady, if you please m'lady" in Narcissa's presence.

"Of course," Narcissa said. "I hope to see Dacia Woodworth for tea tomorrow," she added in passing.

Lucius raised a sardonic gold brow. "Don't you mean you hope to hear her? If I recall correctly, my dear, Dacia Woodworth wasn't silent for more than ten minutes her entire time Hogwarts."

Narcissa smiled in spite of herself. In private, Lucius had a sharper tongue than anyone gave him credit for. She felt impelled to correct her husband, however. "You recall incorrectly. There was the time Severus put a silencing charm on her for two hours the week we took our OWLs."

Lucius chuckled, and rose, offering her his arm. "I stand corrected. I presume dinner is ready?"

Dinner in Malfoy Manor was not always the grand affair guests received. There was a small dining room in the South wing, all in mint and chocolate, with a circular, walnut table just the size for a small family. This was the supper room, whenever Lucius was home for that meal. When he wasn't Narcissa chose to take her meals in her own suite, where the pervading loneliness of the empty house was less penetrating. Narcissa shook her head slightly to herself as she entered their dining room. Lucius was already there, holding her chair, and the whole room, one she tended to avoid particularly when alone because the little carved gargoyles seemed to scowl so fiercely and without food the whole place seemed echoey as a cave, was now warm and cozy, and the gargoyle's grotesque expressions appeared to be parodies of smiles rather than frowns. Sometimes Narcissa wondered just how much the magic in Malfoy Manor was tied to the master, and if she'd ever get used to the way the whole place seemed to miss Lucius when he was gone. Smiling a thank-you at him as she sat, Narcissa decided she probably wouldn't.

Dinner was a pleasant meal, during which Narcissa forgot, as she always forgot in the evenings, the loneliness and emptiness of the afternoon. They were just finishing their sherbet, and Narcissa was thinking what a pleasant evening this would be for music, when Lucius stood abruptly, his spoon clattering to his bowl, and his face tight.

"I apologize for my departure, but urgent business. I will see you later, my dear," he said as he crossed the room in a few swift strides, and was out the door before Narcissa had risen. She hurried after him to the front hall, feeling utterly useless. He stood there, cane in hand, calling impatiently for Dobby to bring his coat. When the harried house-elf appeared with the requested item, Lucius shrugged quickly into it, and set out. Just before he pulled open the front door, he turned to see Narcissa watching him the slightest of worried frowns marring her brow. He smiled at her, in spite of it all, and touched her cheek lightly, "Don't wait up, Narcissa. I don't know when I'll be back." Then he was gone, back out into the furious night.

Trying to smooth away the frown, Narcissa clapped her hands for Eli to clear the dinner dishes away, returned to the family parlor, and took up her lace again.


	2. Ennui

_(A/N) It's been ages, I know. Thank you, Padfoot's Sidekick, for reviewing. I sincerly hope my audience is larger than that. I really do appreciate constructive criticism; this is my first long fic, and I really want help on how to improve my writing. Thanks also goes, as always, to Rowlings to creating such a wonderful playground for elderly five-year-olds, and to Thessaly for insuring my spelling and grammar aren't completely aweful._

Dacia Woodworth arrived punctually at four, in a dark green tea dress and her second best hat. Narcissa was waiting for her in the south-facing parlor, one decorated specifically for small tea parties of this sort. Entering it was like walking into a cloud; everything was light, white and airy, from the gauze curtains to the frothy lace patterned carpets to the doilies on the painted coffee table. When Dacia entered, her jaw sagged a bit as she took in the dainty white room, and its occupant. Narcissa was dressed in a pale green tea gown, the only touch of color in the room, and seated intentionally in a shaft of afternoon sun that lighted her pale hair to a true gold and showed the fineness of the exquisite china teacups on the table in front of her. Shock was not flattering to Dacia's rather meager charms, Narcissa noted. Dacia Woodworth was an ordinary enough looking girl, with dirty blond hair crimped and curled into the latest fashion, and a rather endearing round face. The sagging jaw, unfortunately, only emphasized the fact that Dacia would have several chins in a few years. Everything else about was perfectly ordinary. As a poorer relation to a wealthy family, she had to keep herself presentable if she were to remain under Mr. Woodworth's roof. She wasn't intelligent, but just cunning enough to make herself indispensable to her cousins by knowing absolutely everything about absolutely everyone. Narcissa had no doubt that that evening the after dinner conversation at Woodworth House would be a long monologue by Dacia, reciting everything Narcissa had said, and everything that she hadn't, and a very detailed picture of the room they were currently occupying.

As Dacia collected herself, Narcissa looked up and smiled politely, saying, "My dear Dacia. How lovely to see you again. Do sit down."

By this time, Dacia was ready to talk. "Narcissa, darling, how are you? Well, of course. You do look splendid, darling. And such a lovely house. I've never seen such lovely curtains." Dacia sat carefully on the edge of one of the delicate, white chairs, chattering all the while.

Pouring tea, Narcissa waited until Dacia stopped to breath before interjecting gently, "I've been away so long I feel that I don't know my old friends anymore. Do you know how Delphinium Clarke has been of late?"

"Oh, didn't you hear? Delphi, who we all expected to marry old Theodor Nott (the widower, you remember; ever so rich and as the Clarkes haven't had a penny since that great-uncle of hers gambled it all away, well-); anyway, back in July, she suddenly took it into her head to run off with that jumped-up Mark Flint. Can you imagine?" Dacia paused, both for dramatic effect and to inhale a macaroon, and Narcissa made appropriately startled noises. "Poor Mrs. Clarke," Dacia continued, dusting off her fingers and eyeing the plate of cakes , "After Christabelle married Antony Zabini last winter, she's been looking to Delphinium to mend the family fortunes. Not that I have anything against Antony, of course; he has wonderful manners and impeccable breeding, but his family isn't, well, they're certainly not well enough off to pay all the Clarke's debts. I do wonder what the poor woman will do."

"Though her state is nothing to old Mrs. Parkinson's. Did you hear about Evelyn Parkinson?" Without even waiting for Narcissa to shake her head, Dacia leaned forward conspiratorially, even though the room held only the two of them, and said, "Well, the Parkinsons were having a house party and young Evelyn got himself magically locked in the greenhouse with pretty little Celia Clare, and when the adults finally got the door open, well! There will be a wedding as soon as they graduate; that's all I will say on the subject. Poor Mrs. Parkinson was horrified, of course, but I must say there must have been something wrong with the way she raised him, that he turned out so badly. And Mrs. Clare! To bring up such an immodest girl. When I have children I'm sure they'd be well behaved."

"Quite," murmured Narcissa, refilling her guest's teacup. "And who is in London these days? I haven't heard from my sister in ever so long, London society being what it is."

Dacia smiled and gushed, "Oh, Mrs. Lestrange is still the toast of London. The lower classes are much sparser these days, though, what with His work. No more of your upstart mudbloods bothering us," Dacia continued with a sniff that might having passed as only approving in other company, but was here noted as having rather more nerves then it ought. "Why, just last night, the Dark Mark appeared above Peter Clearwater's house, the blood-traitor. He actually married a Muggle, can you believe!"

Dacia swallowed, and changed the subject, "But I do have to stop babbling, my dear Narcissa. You've barely said a word. How is dear Lucius? Will I see him before I leave tonight?"

Narcissa tensed as facts smashed into each other and certain knowledge of what Lucius had been doing the evening before fought its way into her concious. She supposed she'd known subconsciously all along, but refused to recognize what she could imagine away. Forcing herself to be calm, and hoping Dacia hadn't caught the hesitation, or that she wouldn't understand it if she had, Narcissa said quickly, "No, he has business with our groundskeeper this evening. But he is very well, thank you."

Dacia left in the early evening, trailing promises of invitations and parties. Narcissa ordered her dinner to her suite as Lucius wasn't home yet, and showed no intention of returning soon. She retreated to her windowseat, and scowled at her favorite sitting room for a moment before forcing her features into a more neutral expression. Scowling formed wrinkles. Still, keeping her face calm didn't change the fact that she suddenly didn't want to be in her room right now. She didn't want to be spending her days wandering around an empty house, listening to it echo her loneliness. That was the problem, she realized: having grown up with two sisters constantly in attendance, she just wasn't used to being completely alone. She needed something to do, someone to interact with. It was Dacia that had brought on this fit of sulks; Dacia, who could be pushed and prodded to Narcissa's whim without even noticing she was being manipulated. Though she'd said so much less than her companion, it was Narcissa who had directed the conversation that afternoon. And she had enjoyed it. She hadn't enjoyed herself that much since she'd come back from her honeymoon.

"Ennui," Narcissa murmured to herself. "I need something to do." She'd already redecorated the house, so that wasn't an option. It was too soon after her honeymoon to wish to go traveling. Then, slowly, Narcissa began to smile.

London. But, of course. Lucius had a townhouse there, it would be perfectly respectable. And there would be people. People to watch, people to talk to, people to understand. And scandals to be privy to, society to know, fashion to follow, parties, balls, opera, ballet. All those things she'd loved on her first, all too brief, visit to the city. Bellatrix, Narcissa thought with a toss of her gold head, had been queen of London far too long.

Articulating the thought brought a low laugh to her lips. She knew, regardless of such foolish thoughts, that she would never, ever try and take something Bella wanted. All through her childhood she'd watched her two older sisters, and she knew more about what touched them, and what they were capable of doing, than anyone else. Andromeda, she had always pitied; too shy, too bookish, and too nice to survive a world of old families and old magic and old vengeance. Bellatrix, she had always feared, though she hated to admit it. Bellatrix, dark and passionate, bearing the mark of a warrior on her arm, the only woman to do so. Bellatrix, who had ruled Slytherin from the age of thirteen, who had ruled her parents from the age of six, who had ruled her sisters all their lives. Who had wound Lucius Malfoy around her perfect red-nailed fingers, until she lost him after her engagement. Narcissa had always pretended indifference to her family--they had showed her little enough affection--but she would always be very slightly afraid of her sister.

Fear is a type of power, Narcissa told herself firmly. You mustn't let anyone, even Bellatrix, especially Bellatrix, have that sort of power over you. To London you will go, and though you won't try to outshine her, you also won't avoid her.

With that firm determination in mind, Narcissa clapped her hands for Eli to come and pack her trunks.


	3. Family

_(A/N) I live! Sorry this took so long to write, and thank you to everyone who reviewed. This fic, as some of you might have noticed, is somewhat inspired by Thessaly's The Beautiful People, which everyone should go and read. Cassandra Austin is also an invention of Thessaly, but I claim her mother and brother. Anything you recognize probably doesn't belong to me, and cookies go to anyone who recognizes the Lymond reference._

A week later, the young Mrs. Malfoy descended on London, and settled into her town house. She paid a visit to Grimmauld Place, heard form her aunt of the trouble her young second cousins had gotten into when they'd last visited, received compliments to pass on to Bellatrix, who never had time to visit her dear old aunt anymore, and neatly sidestepped all the delicate allusions about her husband's part in His work. Everyone knew Bellatrix was one of His chosen, but Lucius didn't spend enough time in London for gossip to spread. After conversing with her aunt for a reasonable period, Narcissa returned to her new house, enjoying herself more than she could remember having done before. Married women heard so much more than debutantes, and she no longer needed to drag an aunt or elf everywhere with her, just to satisfy propriety.

Alighting from her carriage, she walked up the path to her door, a smile drifting around the corners of her mouth. That morning she'd received an invitation to an evening party at the Macnair's, and after talking to her aunt, she'd gathered that was the best thing for her to attend. And Macnair, of course, was a friend of Lucius's, so he'd be happy to escort her, if he were around. Narcissa couldn't help enjoying the triumph of it; Bellatrix was sure to be there, and Bellatrix would know Narcissa had been in London only a few days before receiving such an invitation.

"Good day, my dear," Lucius said, as she entered the hall. "I was wondering when you'd come home."

Concealing surprise out of habit more than anything (he'd just left that morning), she smiled at him and said, "I've been to see my aunt, and I mean to accept the Macnair's invitation for this Friday. Will you join me?"

"I might, if Macnair can restrain himself from discussing his experiments during dinner." Lucius offered her his arm, and escorted her to the parlor. "What did you learn from your aunt?"

"This and that. Nothing of particular interest."

"Who Bellatrix is sleeping with these days?"

A small frown marred Narcissa's brow for a moment. "Don't be crude, Lucius. Auntie mostly wanted to know what you did with your time."

"What did you tell her?" he asked without apology.

"That you devote yourself to the estate, but other than that I don't concern myself with your free time."

"No more do you." They had entered the parlor, and the pale blue walls approved the cool unconcern in the soft voices. Lucius seated Narcissa on the couch and went to stand by the gilt mantelpiece, staring out the window at the grey London drizzle. Narcissa opened her workbag, and applied herself to her lace, relaxing the slightest bit in the comfort of her own home.

Narcissa spent the rest of the afternoon arranging threads on her pattern, sorting them neatly and evenly, making sure the lace was just so. At the same time, her brain organized and prioritized the information her aunt had given her at tea. Lace threads wove together and separated as bits of gossip were tied together to show her the total picture.

On Friday, Narcissa sat in front of her mirror, pinning gently curled gold hair into a delicate confection on the back of her head with long gilt pins, and reflecting on all she'd learned and inferred. Dacia's tale of Evelyn Parkinson appeared to be true in facts, though Narcissa gathered from some of the looks and smiles of the ladies she talked to that the entire affair had been arranged by Mrs. Clare and her daughter, and Evelyn had deserved what he got by falling for it. Cassandra Austin was out of town, unfortunately, but her brother Pyramus was at home to embarrass his parents again. He'd come from Italy, where Mrs. Austin had hoped he'd stay, and his newer poetry was spattered with the bits of phrases he'd picked up there. Bellatrix was still undisputed queen of society, and a French cousin of Clio Varens was accounted to be the most beautiful debutant. The Abbots did not support the Dark Lord, but the Masons did. Theodore Nott said he did, but didn't actually do anything, and Mark Flint was one His most fanatic bullies, always trying to shake off his Grandmother's Muggle heritage. Overall, He controlled the leaders of society, but not those in the Ministry. In fact, the Ministry was justifying the faith of the common wizard as a protector of the rights of mudbloods. The last pin slid neatly into place with slightly more emphasis than necessary.

Standing Narcissa turned slowly in front of the mirror on her closet door, critically eyeing the figure she saw there. Very slightly too short, but perfectly proportioned, a tiny waist emphasized by the cut of the gold and white gown. Pale gold curls framed a pretty face, doll-like in its neatness and symmetry, the touches of make-up darkening eyes and lips all but invisible. Narcissa raised her chin slightly to compensate for the lack of height, and, in a swirl of silk and perfume, was gone.

Helena Macnair greeted them at the door, and drew Lucius off to a conversation with Macnair and Francis Austin. Narcissa, left on her own for a minute, examined the room coolly, identifying friends and enemies. It was a beautiful assembly, full of swirling robes and flashing smiles, sparkling jewels and edged glances. Dancers swirled through the center of the floor, matrons and wallflowers decorated the edges, card tables and cigars dominated a small red parlor through the half-open door to Narcissa's right. Everyone laughed and talked and drank and flirted, showing off new robes to the best effect or trying to hide that the new robes were only last year's made over. The whole room was drenched in light and laughter and perfume and just a touch of malice.

Halfway through her examination of the glittering assemblage, Narcissa's composed blue eyes were caught by flashing black ones. Bellatrix was in dark maroon, and had left her thick black hair to fall in a silky wave down her back. For a moment, the sisters eyed each other across the room, then Narcissa coldly turned her eyes away to continue her inspection of the room, and Bellatrix, with a pointed smile, returned to her conversation.

"Your eyes are frigid as ice, Miss Narcissa. I hope your sister is not unhappy to see you?" Idiots and children have always been the ones privileged to point out that the emperor has no clothes, Narcissa thought, but the children remain children and the idiots remain idiots. Or poets.

"Hello, Pyramus. How was Italy?"

"It was lovely, Miss Narcissa. Oh, but you're Mrs. Malfoy now. Lucius has claimed the fairest rose of the Black garden for his lady. I like that; the fairest rose in the Black garden. Where to go next? White as moonlight? No, pale as ivory…" Pyramus trailed off, and drifted away, clearly lost is his own particular world.

Marcella Abbott replaced him, gushing and tittering. "Oh, dear Mrs. Malfoy, how are you? I feel I haven't seen you absolutely ages."

"Quite well," Narcissa murmured, smiling politely at her companion. "And yourself?" Marcella's looks had not improved since their school days. What had been attractive curves in a teenager formed a stout base for a matron who already looked twice her actual age.

"Fine, fine. Mr. Abbott looks after me very well." She leant in conspiratorially. "He's always sure to be about when I come home, and is ever so kind about asking if I have plans for the weekend. And he absolutely always tells me where he's off to, so I can be certain he's not up to anything he shouldn't be." Marcella looked smug as an overlarge tabby that had gotten into the cream.

Narcissa resisted the desire to curl her lip in severe distaste. Lucius would never bother her with such petty details, no more than she would talk to him about the state of the linen closets. "How delightful for you. Lucius and I also get on very well, in our own way. And is Mr. Jonathan Abbott still ambitious for a post at in the Ministry?"

The Abbotts were a good family. Nothing to the Blacks, of course, but they had their pride. Or they had had their pride. Both of the boys in Narcissa's generation, Jonathan and Edward, had been sorted into Hufflepuff. Though Edward had made a good match with Marcella Persus, Jonathan had yet to marry, and Narcissa's sources told her that he was courting the youngest Prewitt girl, Virginia or something. Even for an Abbott that was aiming low.

With a bit of work, Narcissa extricated herself from the conversation, and slid into a crowd of well-dressed school friends, smiling automatically at a joke she hadn't heard. Evelyn Parkinson lounged at the center of the group, tall, lazy and inbred as ever. Narcissa supposed the pert, pretty girl hanging on his arm was the much talked-of Celia Clare.

Celia was the first to notice Narcissa, and approached with a gushing greeting just familiar enough to be offensive, but not enough to merit a real reproof. Celia had a few inches on Narcissa, but Mrs. Malfoy still managed to look down on the younger woman, and responded to her greeting a shade too coolly, clearly granting a concession by allowing herself to be drawn to the center of the group. Narcissa remained, listening and absorbing, for a little before slipping on, and continuing through the ballroom. Ten minutes listening to their conversation had convinced her that Evelyn Parkinson was still a fool, but Celia would need careful watching. The girl was sharp, sly, and ambitious, and if she was a touch crude compared to some that Narcissa knew, it wouldn't stop her from getting just what she wanted.

The next familiar face she came across was her cousin Regulus. He looked rather dashing in black and silver, she thought, smiling honestly for the first time that night, as they drifted, seemingly at random, together. Regulus was the only one in her family that didn't tower over her, and the nearest to her in age, now. When she inquired after his health that evening, it was a straightforward question. He didn't look entirely well. Actually, he looked downright ill and only halfway successful at hiding it. Narcissa supposed she understood a little. As the youngest of three, now two, girls, her parents had brought her up strictly, but with little pressure to make something out of herself. Regulus, now the only Black heir in his generation, suddenly found that his parents, and aunts and uncles all expected him to be more than just a good boy. He had to be someone deserving of the name of Black. Narcissa was enjoying the ball, enjoying the power she held over so many of the people in the room, intimate as she was with their secrets, but she could see that Regulus was near collapsing under the strain of trying to find all those secrets, so Narcissa paused in her circuit of the room to try and make her cousin smile a little.

Pyramus Austin joined them, ostensibly to share the verse he'd composed for Narcissa, but he never got a chance because Narcissa, not feeling him to be a threat, finished explaining to Regulus why, precisely, Mrs. Mason was probably related to a kneazle, before turning to listen to him, and by them he was laughing loudly.

Bellatrix, wanting to stop anyone from enjoying themselves that much, Narcissa supposed acidly, appeared almost instantly. "Narcissa, darling, share the joke," Bellatrix smiled lazily, bending to kiss her sister's cheek. "I dearly love a good joke."

Narcissa returned the smile and the kiss, eyes chilly. "Pyramus was just telling us about a scrap a young wizard he knew in Italy got into. I suppose it was more amusing if you were there," Narcissa said coolly, and turned to dip a slight curtsey to the gentleman who'd arrived in Bella's wake. "Mr. Mason, how do you do?'

"W-well enough, thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," Armand Mason managed, glancing at Bellatrix as he spoke. He was a handsome young man, but not overly intelligent. Narcissa wondered what Bellatrix saw in him; usually she liked her toys brighter.

Before she could discover that, however, they were interrupted by Jealousy, in the person of Rudolphus Lestrange. "Marriage agrees with you, Narcissa. You're even more beautiful than before," he greeted them, with a nod to his wife and slightly more than brotherly kiss on Narcissa's cheek. She just managed not to jerk back in surprise. The last time she'd seen Rudolphus, he'd still been following Bellatrix with almost laughablely dog-like devotion. Clearly, he'd found a new way to make his wife notice him, since. A slightly more effective one, Narcissa thought smugly, seeing a flash of anger in Bella's dark eyes.

Smiling brilliantly up at Rudolphus, Narcissa thanked him and returned the compliment. Rudolphus, with a glare at Bella, and the way her hand rested on Armand Mason's arm, asked Narcissa to dance. She was about to accept when Regulus "reminded" her that she had promised the next waltz to him.

Narcissa allowed Regulus to escort her onto the floor before she requested an explanation of the falsehood. Spinning her into position he smiled a little. "You didn't really want to spend the next half-hour manhandled by Rudolphus while Bella tried to kill you with a look, did you?"

Narcissa couldn't help but smile back. He did have a point. "I suppose not. I think you just didn't want to be near her death-glare for the half-hour."

He smiled properly at her as the music began. It was bliss to dance again, Narcissa thought. She loved the feel of her skirts swirling, letting the music pull her around in a swish of glitter and gold and scent.

When the dance ended, Regulus led her to a seat opposite the Lestranges. He got her a flute of champagne, and hovered about as though building up his courage to ask her something, until Mrs. Austin joined them, when he took off to avoid his friend Pyramus's rather terrifying mother.

Narcissa, undaunted, smiled at Mrs. Austin. This was a woman whose good side she had to be on. The Blacks were by nature political creatures, interested in shaping the destiny of an entire world. Mrs. Austin applied herself to much smaller destinies, those of young witches and wizards who entered Society every year, trying to make a place for themselves. If Mrs. Austin looked unfavorabley on a debutant, the girl's career was finsihed. If Mrs. Austin labeled a young widow fast, and a young matron loose, the unfortunate simply had to retire from public life.

Miss Narcissa Black had always been a favorite with Mrs. Austin, intimate with her daughter, and kind to her son. It appeared that Mrs. Malfoy was no less favored, as Mrs. Austin greeted her, "How beautifully you dance, Narcissa. We've missed you these past months."

"Thank you. I've missed this, too. Is Cassandra well?"

"I had a letter from her just yesterday, and she sounded quite well. How is your mother?"

They continued with pleasentries for the appropriate five minutes, trading insights on the weather for the health of all recognized relations. Then, finally came the purpose. Narcissa found herself privledged to be invited to tea with Mrs. Austin, and a few other ladies the following Tuesday.

Several hours later, she was in front of her mirror again, brushing the curls and pins from her hair, and assessing what she'd learned. Most of it was the general gossip she'd been collecting since she'd arrived. Regulus had found her later in the evening, and had seemed again ready to tell her something very important, but had been again interuptted, this time by Lucius. He'd taken off very quickly, without even a proper goodbye after that. Narcissa stared at herself in the mirror, trying to decide what exactly what he might want to discuss. Perhaps she would invite him over for luncheon tomorrow. Yes, she thought as she set her brush down, luncheon tomorrow would be perfect.


	4. Tea Leaves

_**(A/N)** I know it's been forever, but writing a cohesive storyline is definitely harder than it looks. Gwen Lennox, like Cassandra, belongs to Thessaly, but again, I lay claim to her family. And remember: Feed the Author. Reviewing is a Good Thing._

Regulus came by for tea the next day, it turned out. He brought Pyramus Austin with him, and the three of them spent most of the afternoon talking about everything and nothing. Narcissa supposed they must make an odd picture in her front parlor: Regulus in his favorite matte black, dramatic and handsome, but for the bags under dark blue eyes and a slight tightness to the fragile face, draped across an armchair by the fire; Narcissa, porcelain and perfect with the exact same eyes, but for the bags, seated on the lace sofa, a blue and silver doll; Pyramus slouched in the other chair, somehow managing to make his mother's exquisite taste in robes appear shabby, mussing already disordered blond hair and narrowly avoiding smattering Narcissa's pale parlor with ink from his quill as he gestured and scratched.

Regulus had just finished a long discourse about some Polyjuice experiments, when Pyramus looked up from the paper he'd been scribbling on and said, "He's not in research anymore, you know. He's a spy, now."

A long pause followed that announcement. Finally, Narcissa turned to her cousin, one pale brow raised. Regulus shrugged a little, the animation gone from his face, replaced by a resigned sort of anger. "And is it interesting?" Narcissa inquired coolly, holding out a hand for Regulus's empty teacup when he gave no more response.

"God, Narcissa, don't you care?" Regulus snapped, his anger at himself spilling over to the closest target. "It's not just mudbloods. Purebloods, too; people I've known since I was born. I betray people for Him, then murder them. And all you can ask is if it's interesting?" He slammed the teacup onto the table and, rising, stalked over to the window and looked out at the dreary London street.

Narcissa picked up his near empty teacup and considered the leaves at the bottom. "Have you killed any of your kin? Then, no, I don't particularly care, Regulus. What is betrayal, exactly? Survival, as often as not. If you don't kill these people, you will die. You know that. So why shouldn't do what you have to, not to die?"

Regulus turned away from the window to gape at his cousin. "What if survival interferes with doing what's right? Cissa, even you must have some things you won't contemplate doing!"

"Of course I do. They're all severely detrimental to my health and happiness. Really, Regulus. I'm a Malfoy now, as well as a Black. Malfoy--bad faith. And Great-Great Aunt Capella switched sides so many times we still have arguments about whether she was pro- or anti-Revolution, but have any of her progeny ever held it against her? No. You were brought up as I was; we know the only thing that is sacrosanct is the Family."

Regulus swallowed and looked away again. Finally he replied in a defeated voice, "I know."

The white hand holding Regulus's cup shook a little, and Narcissa put the empty teacup carefully on the delicate coffee table by her side, looking intently away from its contents. They showed her more than she wanted to know. "It's Sirius, isn't it?"

One black shoulder rose and fell. Only the slight sound of the street drifted through the window. It began to rain. Finally, Regulus said, quietly, "When you condemn all outside the Family to the vacuities of survival, do you include Him?"

That got a gasp from Narcissa. "You're not actually going to-" For the first time in a long while Narcissa responded instantly, without thinking, and heard the slight waver in her voice. Forcing herself to stop, she gripped her teacup and forced her hands to stop shaking, forced her face to smooth, forced her heart to slow.

"He is only mortal," Regulus said lightly.

"They don't think so." Both cousins turned to Pyramus, blinking in unison as they remembered his presence.

"You won't-" Regulus began, his face blanching with fear.

"I never talk about things you say," Pyramus assured his friend. "You're the only one who listens to me, so you're the only one who I tell things. But they don't think He's mortal. They say he's found the key to immortality. So you shouldn't try what you're saying."

Narcissa blinked a little at this earnest speech. It was one of the longest she'd ever heard Pyramus make on a single subject, without drifting into the realms of Poesy. Regulus, however, replied instantly, "He's not immortal; He's just harder to kill. You see-"

"I don't want to know," Narcissa cut in firmly. "And I think it's time for you to go. Lucius will be home soon to take me to dinner at the Lennox's, and I have to change."

Pyramus and Regulus rose obediently, Pyramus nodding absently to her, already lost in a literary dream brought on by the rain. Regulus made his goodbyes properly, but he was clearly already beginning to have said as much. In a rare gesture of kindness, Narcissa took his hand and, catching his eye, said quietly, "Family, remember? You'll always be safe with me."

----------------------------------

Mr. Lennox was a banker, and it showed. He had a slight squint and ink-stained fingers, and would talk forever of the dullest subjects imaginable. He only had one house, and it was in the center of London, with gaudy, nearly vulgar displays of wealth to counteract the newness of everything and to hide the traffic of the dreadful Muggle motorcars outside the windows. The Lennoxes had used to be quite well off, but in the seventeenth century the branch Matthew Lennox was descended from had lost most of their fortune when a colonial venture failed. They'd scraped by since with a slight resurgence during the Regency, but Matthew Lennox was the first to make any real money. Since he was extremely good at making money, Society chose to ignore his Muggle-born great-great grandmother. Lucius Malfoy only patronized his establishment because Matthew's mother had been a Malfoy tenant, and the family had yet to forget that their establishment had been based in the Malfoy fortune.

Dinner was uninspiring, but Gwendolyn Lennox, who was home for the holidays, was a rare delight. She'd been in Slytherin at school, and Narcissa had a vague memory that the younger girl had been a Prefect in Sirius' year. She worked for the Ministry now, and had some of the class her father lacked. She was also fiendishly intelligent, a fact Narcissa did not remember from school. When they left the men to their port and business, the conversation turned interesting. Naturally, it began with the comings and going in London, but at some point veered to the Ministry, and its attempt to find able-bodied workers. Narcissa, remembering her conversation with Marcella Abbott at the MacNair's ball, mentioned Mr. Jonathon Abbott, and made a mental note to be sure he knew whom to thank.

By the Lucius and Lennox rejoined them, Narcissa gathered that while Matthew was a Death Eater (not the Gwendolyn had even hinted so much; sometimes you could just tell by the company a man kept), his daughter chose to support the Cause in a far more subtle fashion.

Compliments were exchanged and after-dinner tea was served. Swirling the dregs around the bottom of her cup, Narcissa saw, for a second, a blackwood coffin covered by a shroud, and quickly put the cup away. Never before had she disliked all the rituals of tea quite so much.

By Monday, Narcissa was almost dreading Mrs. Austin's tea party. When she'd tried to divine any sort useful information in her crystal ball, all she seen was the funeral. And, occasionally, a strong face framed in black hair, gone too quickly to be identified as anything other than a Black. Teacups, any sort of cards, almost anything that would reflect, would tell her the same thing, sometimes even when she didn't look for it.

On Tuesday morning they stopped. What had been going to happen had happened, she supposed, or at least had been set in motion to happen. Fixing her hair up in soft twist and pulling two curls forward to frame her face, Narcissa considered her mirror. Finally approving the blend of youth and maturity, she sat back and let her mind wander as she neatened and set her make-up. Jonathon Abbott had gotten a job as junior assistant to the Auror's office and had sent her a very effusive note of thanks. Apparently his courtship was costing something rather beyond his means. Tomorrow, Celia Clare and Evelyn Parkinson were going to be married; Narcissa had received an invitation soon after the MacNair's ball. Lucius was away again. He was also avoiding her. It was very subtle, of course. Narcissa doubted Lucius could be anything but subtle, and he would never be so rude as to blatantly avoid his wife's company. Narcissa might have succeeded in convincing herself that she didn't mind, except that whenever she did see him he seemed to be with Bellatrix. The smug looks Bella sent her direction were almost enough to make Narcissa encourage Lestrange's advances, if only to give Bella a taste of her own medicine.

Really though, there was no reason to fuss. Everyone knew that fidelity was not a particularly enduring characteristic of any member of society. At least Lucius was discreet. Everyone, including Mrs. Sutton, had known that Vassily Sutton had kept a house on the Scottish border expressly for his mistress. Smoothing her lilac skirt, Narcissa wrapped a soft scarf spelled against rain around herself and put thoughts of husbands, faithful or otherwise, from her head as she headed to tea with the matriarchs of the wizarding world.

When she returned that evening, Lucius was still gone. Narcissa tried to settle, first with her lace, then with a book, and finally practicing the harp. It wasn't as if she never had spent an evening alone. Lucius was often away in the evenings. After butchering a sonata she'd been able to play three days before perfectly for the third time, Narcissa put her harp away, and unable to resist, brought her crystal ball to the coffee table. Clearing her mind of all thought but her husband, Narcissa focused on the mist in the center of the ball. Only one image appeared, and it wasn't Lucius. It was Bellatrix fanatic devotion written across her features. As Narcissa watched, the devotion faded for a moment, replaced by loathing, hate, misery. But only for a moment. The fanaticism rekindled in the eyes, and her mouth moved, forming the words, "Yes, my lord."

Profoundly disturbed, Narcissa covered her crystal with a black velvet cloth, wondering what it was possible for the Dark Lord to ask her to do that she'd ever hesitate to do. Suddenly very tired, Narcissa trailed upstairs, forgetting to smooth away the frown lines.


	5. Loyalty

_**(A/N)**It's almost done; only two more chapters. And they're almost written, so I'll even update promptly. On the subject of reviews, thank you to everyone who did review, and would anyone else taking the time to read this drop me a line? I'm still not entirely convinced by my Lucius. Or Narcissa's sudden bouts of philosophy, for that matter. Does it work for you?_

Narcissa knew, with the surety of a diviner, that something awful had happened. She barely touched her croissant, and paid even more careful attention too her make-up to cover a pale face and heavy eyes. When Lucius finally got home in the middle of the morning, she was still there, because she knew she lacked the presence of mind needed for paying social calls.

He smelt of Bella's perfume. If it had been anyone else, or if it had been any other day, Narcissa would have let it go, determined not to care how he spent his time. But she had a deep feeling of foreboding and it was Bella, so she demanded, for the first time in their marriage, to know where he'd been and what he'd been doing.

"Why should my comings and goings interest you? I haven't cared to trouble you when you entertain Pyramus Austin unchaperoned three days in a row?"

Even as she shouted back, Narcissa felt a perverse pleasure that Bellatrix wasn't the only one who could get under Lucius Malfoy's skin. Look at that icy face now, all red and hot with anger. "Pyramus Austin! And unchaperoned! I'm a married woman, Lucius. I don't need an auntie hanging over my shoulder all the time to make certain I'm proper. But if you needed a chaperon Pyramus always brought Regulus with him. Or rather Regulus brought Pyramus."

Lucius winced at the mention of Regulus, some of the anger draining from his face and Narcissa snapped, sharper than she ever had at him before, "What about Regulus?"

"He was a traitor," Lucius snapped back defensively. "And you know how traitors are treated."

It hit Narcissa like a punch in the stomach. The order Bella didn't want to carry out but would anyway, Lucius's sudden distance from her family, and, most of all, the portents. Lucius reached out for her, offering comfort. Narcissa took a quick step back. "Get away from me. Don't you dare touch me with your murdering hands."

"He was a traitor," Lucius repeated harshly.

"He was Family." Narcissa backed out of the breakfast room. "The funeral will be a two weeks from Wednesday. I'll see you then."

"Narcissa," it was a command, and much as she hated it, Narcissa looked back at him. "What are you going to do?"

Narcissa knew her eyes were colder than midwinter. She was too numb for them not to be. "The world must know there is a price for interfering with _my_ family."

"She's your sister. Isn't that Family, too?"

"I don't have any sisters. I am going to visit a friend. I will see you in two weeks, Lucius. I suggest you stay away from Mrs. Lestrange."

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Narcissa was shivering with reaction as she stood on the doorstep of Pyramus Austin's flat. It took a very long time to answer the door, and when he did his eyes were blotchy and red. "Miss Narcissa! You must be prostrate with grief. Come in, come in."

Narcissa entered numbly, and sat at Pyramus's kitchen table, while he fed her tea and rambling conversation. Finally her brain began, slowly, to work again. "Pyramus," she asked, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Would you do some things for me?'

"Of course, Miss Narcissa," Pyramus replied instantly, then continued with his disconcerting clarity, "You're going to make them pay for it, aren't you?"

Narcissa turned to look Pyramus in the eye, her mind already developing the perfect revenge. "Yes, Pyramus. They're going to pay."

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Mrs. Malfoy did, in fact, appear at Evelyn and Celia Parkinson's wedding. Her husband did not attend, and she was seen to give Mrs. Lestrange a direct cut. Dacia Woodworth claimed afterwards that she hadn't dear Narcissa smile once during the ceremony, and during the reception they learned why. Her dear cousin, Regulus Black had been brutally murdered the night before, for no reason that anyone could see. He hadn't even been robbed. Many people suspected Him, but Celia Clare, conniving even on her wedding day, saw the way Mrs. Malfoy looked at Mrs. Lestrange, and the way Mrs. Lestrange didn't look at Mrs. Malfoy, and drew her own conclusions. And, quite naturally, told them to anyone who would listen. Both Mrs. Lestrange and Mrs. Malfoy left the reception early.

Narcissa stopped next at Grimmauld Place. Her aunt was miserable beyond belief, and Narcissa privately wondered how much losing her second, favorite, son would hurt her already unstable mental state. Her uncle would almost certainly have a fatal heart failure as soon he could ensure it wouldn't be suspicious.

Then she went to the Ministry. Jonathon Abbott was surprised to see her, but was too kind (Narcissa silently blessed Hufflepuff chivalry) to dismiss a damsel in distress, and was everything sympathetic. His superior, a Cornelius Fudge, was even more sympathetic and promised to see that the Aurors got on the case at once. His fat mudblood face to close to hers, he patted Narcissa's had, and consoled her in her loss. Bravely wiping careful, beautiful, tears from her eyes Narcissa produced a wan smile and thanked him for all his consideration.

Finally she returned to Ignatius Plaza, a quiet side street off Diagon Alley where all the best hotels were to be found. Pyramus had, as she'd asked, found her a pleasant garden room at the Virtus Draconus, and was waiting for her there, with an address. Narcissa thanked him, then told his to leave; she would see him tomorrow. He was clearly worried, but a lifetime's conditioning to follow orders held, and he left.

Narcissa was grateful. The spell she about to do was highly illegal for a number of reasons, not the least of which was its effects on unsuspecting bystanders. Remembering Andromeda's rather scandalized explanation of the theory to Narcissa and Bellatrix--that is, when Narcissa had heard the effects described, she remembered the look on--that is…. Tied up with thoughts of people who weren't family but had been, or people who were family but hadn't been (Lucius's face drifted across her mind, cold, disgusted, sneering), Narcissa paused, staring out at the perfect wizarding garden outside, smelling lavender and honeysuckle as they wafted through the window.

Honeysuckle. Andromeda had loved honeysuckle, but Mama had always insisted that it was untidy and chaotic. Narcissa forced herself to finish the thought. Andromeda. Andra. Andi, sometimes, and after she went to school, at school, Drama. Bellatrix was no sister of hers, of that Narcissa was sure. But Andromeda had only run away, she would never, had never, sought to harm her family. Perhaps, just perhaps, Narcissa thought wistfully, she wasn't the only Black left.

The sun appeared briefly from behind a cloud and flashed off the mirror, bringing Narcissa back to the moment with a jolt. She had, as she had told Lucius, a duty to impress on the world the price for killing her cousin. She tucked the address in her purse, and pulled on a pair of neat white gloves. Pyramus, bless him, had seen to it that her things were transferred to the Virtus Draconus. Checking her make-up in the mirror, she lifted her head, sure that the image was tall and proud, showing no weakness.

Regulus's other flat, the one his mother didn't know about, was a shabby apartment in Cheapside, with a faint veneer of dust over many of the rooms. Only his study was clean, and even there the watery sunlight dappled through ragged drapes onto warped floorboards and tired, worn rags of carpets. In the closet were the robe and mask of a Death Eater. With careful fingers, Narcissa removed them. Finally standing over the red stain on the floor she pulled out her wand and a small knife. The spell was a long one, a droning chant far more involved than anything they ever leanrt at Hogwarts. It was more powerful, too, so much so that Narcissa could feel the air grow heavy with the magic she pulled around herself, gathering and gathering until at the end of the spell, she flicked the dagger across the back of her wrist and let three drops of her blood fall to the splotch on the floor. Then the power was gone, intent on its victim.

This was old, old magic, the sort that required blood for blood, and life for life. Regulus had already paid for the life here, and the magic recognized her claim to revenge him. It wouldn't kill Bellatrix, Narcissa wasn't strong enough for that, but it would create a compulsion, an inability to deny her part in Regulus's death. Satisfied, Narcissa tied a handkerchief around her wrist, and pulled her gloves back on.

As she slipped through the bedroom toward the door, a wave of dizziness overcame her, and Narcissa reached out to the bookshelf to steady herself. Old Magic took a lot out of a person. When her vision cleared, Narcissa found herself staring at the one of the few decorations in the flat. It was picture, old and rather worn, but still clear. Five children sat in a garden, all of them grinning cheerfully at her, blue and grey eyes laughing at her over the same nose. The pictured Regulus was little more than a baby, overflowing his brother's toddler lap, and reaching for a grinning gap-toothed Andra's curls. Narcissa saw herself to one side, looking rather adoringly up at a striking thirteen-year-old, who held a beautiful wand one up for the photographer to see, showing the bare, smooth skin of her left arm.

Feeling sick, Narcissa pushed away from the bookshelf and Apparated back to the hotel room as quickly as she could find the co-ordinates.


	6. Waiting

_**(A/N)** I'm updating with unprecedented quickness, I know, but I'd nearly written this and completely written the second chapter. I am now groveling for reviews. Please, please, pretty please review. I love feedback, and how can I do better if you won't tell me what I'm doing wrong?_

A week later, Narcissa was still at the Virtus Draconus. Lucius hadn't called, but on the second day he'd sent a bouquet of lilies, a peace offering, Narcissa supposed. She hadn't responded, but she'd kept the flowers. She'd heard nothing from him since.

Celia Clare, now Mrs. Parkinson, had, as Narcissa had hoped, been spreading rumors about Regulus's death. Gwen Lennox had helped them along, though Narcissa was not entirely sure why. Cornelius Fudge called every day with sympathy and very little else. Sternly reminding herself he was useful to her, Narcissa forced herself to see him, though his puffy, stupid mudblood face sickened her. A great many other people called, and Narcissa cried a great deal. Not actual crying, of course. Beautiful crying, the sort that didn't disturb her make-up, or make her eyes red. A few tears, then an embarrassed retreat behind her handkerchief, and a brave, wan little smile.

Pyramus called every day or two, sometimes with his mother, sometimes alone, always in a roundabout way, wanting to know whether anything was happening. Narcissa did her best to ignore his hints. She sat in her pristine hotel room, pouring tea and crying for visitors, and waited. Surely even the Ministry would come up with something soon.

In the afternoons, Narcissa often called on her aunt, arranging for the funeral, as neither of Regulus's parents was in any state to do anything. Grimmauld Place frighteningly empty in the early evening, dark and cold, with only three quiet people on three large, echoey floors. Narcissa found it a little frightening the way the house, always in her memory full to the brim with relatives and friends decked out for New Year's or Midsummer's, echoed and muttered to itself, shutting out the warm rain and muzzy sunlight to contemplate it's shadowy innards.

On the seventh day, Narcissa returned to the Virtus Draconus, glad again that she'd turned down her aunt's offer to stay at Grimmauld Place. Even a hotel was better than that dreadful house. She reached her room to find a hastily written letter from Fudge. They were going after a gang of Death Eater that night. Bellatrix was supposed to be with them.

For the first time in a week, Narcissa smiled as she fell asleep.

Fudge called early the next morning. The raid had been a success. Fudge had been astounded at the speed with which Bella had confessed everything, including the murder of her cousin. Narcissa tried to look distraught. It wouldn't have fooled Lucius, but it was well enough for Fudge.

Fudge was sympathetic, of course, pressing her hand and asking what he could do to help. Narcissa sent him away rather more sharply than she had previously. Even for Family she couldn't out up with a fat mudblood who wore off-the-rack maroon robes.

On his way out, Fudge begged her to be remembered to her husband; without Lucius's tip-off, the raid would never have succeeded. And then, green bowler firmly in place, he was gone.

For a few minutes, Narcissa just stared at the door. Lucius…. After the name her mind stuttered to a stop. But he was mad at her. And the way he looked at Bellatrix, the way he'd always looked at Bellatrix, since he was thirteen. He'd never turn her in, never betray their pet Cause. Unable to quite understand, Narcissa forced herself to move, mechanically checking her hair and make-up, sitting at her desk and applying herself to writing out invitations to the funeral as her mind tried to understand.

By the time the mail arrived, she was unsurprised but still unnerved when Tiberius, Lucius's snowy owl, brought her a note informing her that Mr. Malfoy would be returning to the manor that afternoon, and would she care to join him?


	7. Letters

"There's something for you, Padfoot," Remus Lupin called as he sorted through their mail. "Why didn't you tell us you had a new girlfriend?"

"I haven't," Sirius muttered, waking up very gradually with each sip of his coffee.

"Then why are you getting pink scented notes?" Lupin demanded cheerfully.

"Let me see that," Sirius snapped, suddenly completely awake and clearly annoyed. Lupin handed the letter over, watching as his friend turned the letter over and began to laugh, long and loud and bitter.

"What's going on?" a muzzy James Potter asked as he emerged from his bedroom.

"Padfoot's got a letter, but he won't say who from."

"Didn't the flowers tell you?" Sirius asked. "I wonder what my darling cousin Narcissa wants after all this time. Can't be money, she knows I've none, and she's married Malfoy and I'm sure we'd know if he weren't still rolling in galleons."

"You're related to Malfoy!"

"Don't remind me. She forgot to send me an invitation to the wedding, but I read about in the papers." With a grimace of distaste, he slit the envelope, and began to read the letter. James and Lupin watched as their friend's fists clenched around the letter, not quite knowing what to do. The family politics never made sense to those raised in happy, open, loving households. The letter fell to the ground as Sirius swung out of their flat, leaving half his morning coffee in a cup on the table. Stooping Lupin picked the letter up. There were two sheets. The first was an invitation to the funeral of Regulus A. Black. The second read:

_Cousin Sirius,_

_I suppose you have heard of your brother's death in the newspapers, but I write to express my condolences and to invite you to join the rest of the family at the funeral. A formal invitation is included._

_I don't know if this will please you or not, Sirius, but Regulus died because he believed in something. I think you would have been proud of him. I know he would have wished it._

_Sincerely,_

_Narcissa Black Malfoy_

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"Mummy, this letter smells funny."

"Funny how, darling?" Andromeda Tonks asked, not pausing even to wipe the flour off her hands as she pulled the possibly dangerous letter from her daughter's curious fingers.

"Funny like the princess-aunty," Nymphadora said, scrunching her face, then letting it settle back into a set of perfect doll-like features that Andromeda knew almost better than her own, and that her daughter had only seen once. Ever since discovering the pretty lady was her aunt, but not in the same way Daddy's sisters were aunts, Nymphadora had called her the princess-aunty: related, but too high-and-mighty to see her poorer subjects.

The letter did smell of Narcissa and, unable to resist temptation, Andromeda slit it open, wondering why in Merlin's name Narcissa would write to her. First, there was the invitation to the funeral, addressed only to her, again, excluding her family. Then the letter.

_My dear Sister,_

_Cousin Regulus is dead in the service of the Dark Lord, as you may have heard. I have enclosed a formal invitation to join the rest of the family for a funeral service and burial. Bellatrix will not be attending, so you need not worry that your presence would offend anyone unduly._

_Sincerely,_

_Narcissa Black Malfoy_

Flipping through the newspaper, Andromeda found her cousin's obituary, just below the list of suspected Death Eaters captured that week. One of those on the list was Bellatrix Lestrange.

When Ted came home an hour later, she was still crying over the newspaper.

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Narcissa sat at her window seat, watching again, the rain pour over the farms and fields of the Malfoy Estate. Lucius was away again, but just for today, the loneliness of the place suited her mood. Would Sirius or Andra care, she wondered. Or would they rip up the stiff little notes she'd spent the morning slaving over without reading them. Once, Narcissa would have said they would always open such a letter, certainly feel sorry for a cousin's, a brother's death. But if Bellatrix, who had once lived only for her family pride, had changed so much that she could kill her cousin, how much more could Andromeda and Sirius, who had thrown themselves away from the family, ignore?

Finally, in a mansion alone, Narcissa Black cried properly and messily for her favorite cousin.

_**(A/N)** The End! I hope you liked it. Please review. The time Tonks met Narcissa is completely stolen from Thessaly's fic **Princess of Gehenna** which every single one of you should read. Go now. Also, for anyone concerned with Bella and Narcissa's friendship/love/agreement at Spinner's End in canon, I believe Narcissa would do anything for her family, including forgive Bella._


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